


The End of the Third is the Beginning of the First (aka the mistaken third date)

by Jenny_Starseed



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dating, M/M, Mistaken Date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenny_Starseed/pseuds/Jenny_Starseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade thinks they’re on their third date. Mycroft doesn’t even know it’s a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the Third is the Beginning of the First (aka the mistaken third date)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/12826.html?thread=67801370#t67801370) asking for exactly what the summary says. It's my first and maybe only Mystrade fic I've written and it sat on my hard drive for too long. 
> 
> None of the characters are mine. Unbeta-ed and UnBrit-picked.

Lestrade watched Mycroft carefully savour his meat pie. It was the third time they’ve seen each other outside of the context of work. There were no underground parking lots, 10pm meetings at the yard and they weren’t on a park bench either. Instead, they were at Lestrade’s favourite pub, having dinner and a pint for the third time. It was an odd joy watching Mycroft eat his food, watching each chip savoured in shiny vinegar and salt, each piece of his meat pie was carefully cut with his knife and fork before being eaten. It was a nice night out, a Wednesday night were the pub was quiet since it was a workday. It was nice seeing Mycroft in a tasteful cable knit jumper and corduroy trousers, he looked completely relaxed and at home. 

“This is lovely, Inspector,” said Mycroft in between careful bites of food.

“Are you always such a neat eater?” Lestrade asked curiously.

“Yes, unfortunately. Concentration on the food at hand makes it less likely for me to take it for granted, and thus, over-eat. Some pop psychologists call it mindful eating,” replied Mycroft with some distaste. “But it’s just strategic eating. This is my indulgence for the week before I return to steamed vegetables and brown rice tomorrow.”

“Food occupies your mind a lot, doesn’t it?” asked Lestrade. 

“Discipline is something I highly value, it was instilled upon me at a young age,” Mycroft primly replied. "One would think I over-compensated with my extra-curricular activities and academic achievements to make up for my lack of discipline in food.”

“Right, I can see that. You and Sherlock are more alike than you seem.”

Mycroft frowned. “People say that with erroneous assumptions.”

“Oh but you are,” Lestrade insisted. “Sherlock has the strictest discipline with cultivating his skills for his detective work, but an absolute hedonist when it came to drugs and sex.”

“Yes, I suppose you would have an intimate knowledge of that.”

“Bailed him out of more trouble than he cares to remember, the infuriating sod.”

“Yes, but we’re not here to talk about him.”

“No, we’re not,” responded Lestrade. He watched Mycroft continue to eat carefully, watching his elegant hands cut his food and bring it to his mouth. Such grace seemed out of place in such a homely environment as this sixty year old pub, filled with blue collar workers and various members of the Yard on their off night. At a moment of impulse, Lestrade reached out and put his hand on Mycroft’s, the one that’s not holding a fork. Mycroft looked up with a startled expression, a bewildered look before comprehension dawned.

“Oh,” Mycroft responded numbly. What a novelty to see Mycroft at a loss for words. At a loss for anything actually. “I wasn’t aware of...I mean to say, it’s quite unexpected...”

Right. This was awkward, Lestrade thought. How can he salvage this? He needs good relations with Mycroft if Sherlock is to continue to work for the Yard. He needs to keep a straight face to keep from further embarrassing himself.

“It’s just been a while since anyone has...”stumbled Mycroft.

“Has wanted to go out with you?” finished Lestrade.

“Yes.”

Mycroft looked distinctly uncomfortable, his eyes wandering around the pub as if he was seeking escape. Damn. How is Lestrade going to resolve this? It was so bloody stupid of him to assume that Mycroft would be interested in such an unsophisticated man like Lestrade. Taking such a posh man to a rundown pub like this! No wonder.

“Well, if you’re not interested,” Lestrade began uncertainly, “there needn’t be any hard feelings between us. Just a misunderstanding.”

“Ah, yes that. A misunderstanding... Quite a surprising turn of events. ” trailed Mycroft. There was a hint of a smile forming on his face, before he turned a laser sharp gaze on Lestrade. “Not entirely unwelcomed.”

“It’s not?” Lestrade asked dumbly.

“No, it’s quite flattering,” Mycroft said simply. “It’s been a while since anyone has made me feel so comfortable. I haven’t had a meal in a restaurant without a strategic pretense in a long time. I quite like it. And I quite like you, Lestrade.”

“So...you’re alright with this? Normally I can tell if someone’s interested...” asked Lestrade with uncertainty.

“Yes, I’m afraid I’m to blame for this,” Mycroft explained casually. “Call it the Holmes’ reserve; we do hold the cards close to our chest when it comes to the matter of the heart. I’m frankly quite flattered, Lestrade. It has been a long time since I’ve had such an attractive proposition.”

“Proposition? Is that what you call this?”

“Yes. Mind you, it has been a long time for me,” began Mycroft. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m out of practise. I’m not necessarily the most observant person when it comes to people’s romantic interest in me.”

“You mean the majority of people are so damn intimidated, they never approach you,” corrected Lestrade.

Mycroft leaned forward, his voice almost in a low and quiet purr. “When you put it like that, yes. Now, we’ve come to an understanding. We are attracted to each other and we like coming to this pub for dinner and drinks. Now, where do we go from here? I suggest we go to an establishment of my choice. I know a nice little French Bistro, a little more upscale than what you’re used to. Any excuse to see you in a proper suit will be fine with me. If you don’t have one, one can be provided.”

“That is very generous of you,” Lestrade nervously replied. Lestrade didn’t know Mycroft could look so pleasantly predatory, almost like a cat with a canary. Lestrade began to wonder if he under-estimated what dating Mycroft Holmes would entail. It could be more terrifying than a severely bored and caffeinated Sherlock Holmes. 

“Not generous at all,” replied Mycroft. He leaned back and steeped his fingers beneath his chin with a completely self-satisfied look. Lestrade could see the familial resemblance to Sherlock now. “Completely self-serving. That is one thing you have to know about a Holmes, they never do anything that doesn’t somehow benefit them. You are a very handsome man, Lestrade. It would be a waste if you never got to show off your best features.”

“Is this what lust looks like in a Holmes?” asked Lestrade with a wry smile.

“I suppose it is,” concluded Mycroft. “You don’t mind, do you? A handsome bisexual man like you will have to tend to some physical objectification if you are to date someone of the same sex.”

“No...no. It’s fine,” said Lestrade. “I’m just a bit caught off guard, it’s been a while since I’ve had such positive attention...to my looks.”

“Don’t worry. I will try my best to make you comfortable I do have some self-control in public settings,” assured Mycroft. A mischievous small grin formed on his face, Lestrade was beginning to wonder what he got himself into. “No promises once we are behind closed doors. How about six pm next Friday? I will pick you up myself.”

“Wait, I didn’t even give you my address.”

“Lestrade, I am the British Government. Your address is not a difficult piece of information to obtain for someone in my position. Rest assured I will be very responsible with it.”

“Ok. Six pm next Friday is fine,” agreed Lestrade while attempting to regain his composure. “I look forward to it. And thank you for the suit; I really don’t have anything that nice for...”

“It is not a problem. Believe me, the pleasure’s all mine. Be sure of it. I’ll give you the address to my tailor,” replied Mycroft. He pulled out a business card from his jacket and handed it to Lestrade. “Special appointment. It’s much too short notice for a custom-made suit, but they do have a wide range of ready to wear available. I’m very sure you will find something very appropriate.”


End file.
